When the Past Resurfaces
by Tartlette
Summary: It had been a little more than two years since Colby had been revealed as a triple agent. He was about to face some unexpected consequences from that assignment.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was a rare day off and despite the early morning hour, Colby Granger was already up and on his way to the beach. A 6" Hagen surfboard in the back of truck, he could smell the salt in the air as pulled over onto the shoulder, close to his preferred surfing spot. One of the "benefits" of FBI work meant your days off were often mid-week. While this made getting together with friends, visiting family or actually having a social life difficult, it provided the chance to surf free of the larger weekend crowds.

Zipping up back of his wetsuit, Colby nodded to a few of the regulars, picked up his board and made his way down to the shore. Jumping, face down on to the board, he began to paddle out. Feeling the accumulated tension from the last few days of work starting to dissipate, Colby inhaled deeply and smiled to himself. This was his therapy.

This was how he dealt with the horrors he saw on the job, the evil he observed (or in one painful instance had experienced firsthand) and the memories of the lives he had taken in the line of duty in order to save his own or those of his team. A trained professional with a fancy diploma on the wall would probably tell him that he was suppressing what needed to be addressed. However, owing partially to his training, and more fully to his personality and the coping mechanisms he developed years ago, he was able to move forward and on. For now. He was, however, self-aware enough to know that if the past ever got in the way of his present or future ability to do his job, he would exercise one of two options. Either walk away from the FBI and never look back or take Dr. Bradford up on any one of his previous counseling offers.

Sitting upright on the board, his legs making lazy circles in the water beneath, watching for approaching he waves, he was content to wait. There was no rush this morning. No case that needed his immediate attention. No witnesses to be interviewed. No reports to be finished. Knowing how much he needed these few days off to be completely free of work, he had had stayed till nearly midnight the night before to finish the last of any nagging reports. So, on this morning, Colby was content to catch the odd wave and otherwise sit languidly atop the board, bobbing rhythmically with water's movement beneath him.

From where he sat, he watched the majority of the remaining early rise surfers make their way out of the surf, on to the beach and back to their cars, where they would head out into the workday. Of those who remained, Colby recognized a few familiar faces. From what he knew or could guess, most were shift workers. The two or three he could actually call acquaintances were emergency response workers; including Everett the paramedic and Oscar the fire department battalion chief who had started surfing nearly 40 years earlier. What he couldn't have known at that moment was that in only a few minutes, those two men would be in a desperate attempt to save his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Colby figured more guys (and more recently, girls) had learned to surf during their time in the armed services than nearly anyone would have expected. Simply put, it was all owing to location. Stationed at Schofield in central Oahu for a time, Colby had spent the majority of any R&R learning how to surf. Being young, a gifted natural athlete and in Hawaii for an extended period of time, that he would take up surfing was a forgone conclusion. That he would become quite proficient in a relatively short period of time was owed to the natural athleticism he had inherited from his late father.

After Schofield, there were brief postings in Europe where he used his R&R time to test the frigid waters of Donegal Bay in Ireland and Estagnots in western France. Then came Afghanistan where, even if time or his commanding officers would have permitted him the opportunity to surf, the country's geography did not. Eventually though he returned stateside and returned to the sport.

At Quantico he would make the long drive down to Virginia Beach whenever he could. It was on those waves in Virginia that he had his first therapy session and tried to let the memories of things he had seen and done in Afghanistan wash off of him. It was on those waves that he would accept the debt he felt he owed to Dwayne Carter for saving his life. It was also on those waves where he reached the decision to report Dwayne and dealt with the guilt that came with that decision. Dr. Bradford might say that it was no coincidence that Colby would later chose a position in the FBI office furthest removed in distance from those waves on Virginia Beach.

On this morning though, several years later, atop the southern California waves, the past was about resurface. A past that could be traced to Quantico, Afghanistan and as far away as China.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

He was being watched, both at present and for quite some time previously. So stealthy and skilful were the observers that they had been in his home. More than once.

They had recorded his movements and monitored his routine. They knew where he kept his gun…and his back up gun. They knew who was at the top of his speed dial, were he bought his groceries, the paths he preferred for regular runs and each of the multiple routes he used to and from the office. A careful FBI agent, he never took the same route home from the office. That was the unofficial protocol a number of agents, particular those with a history of undercover work, followed in an attempt to protect the sanctity of their home and private life.

That he was largely unaware of their presence, despite the sheer number of day and hours spent observing him spoke more of their training and the no-costs sparred priority of their assignment than it did of Colby's lack of attention. They were also aided greatly by patience and the passage of time. According to their boss, Colby had spent two years double crossing them. They could wait two years to extract their retribution.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

In the immediate aftermath of the failed interrogation by Mason Lancer, certain high-level Chinese espionage officials became aware of the depths of Colby's betrayal to their cause. As a result, certain lower-level officials had paid for their failure to recognize him as a triple agent with their own lives. One of those lower level officials had been sparred execution, but having witnessed the death of his comrades vowed that the traitor, whose actions had given rise to such results, should himself meet a similar fate.

That individual, despite the initial stigma, managed to rise up the ranks in the two years following the "Colby Granger Incident". Now in a position of great authority within the Chinese espionage machine, the motive remained and he had the means to carry out the retribution he craved.

During the time Colby was under surveillance, a number of assassination plans were considered. They varied from an ordinary mugging and shooting (planned for one of Colby's regular runs) to a convoluted, overly complex car accident to be orchestrated on his drive home from work. Both were abandoned as neither could assure the desired end result. Also, under strict orders from those higher up to ensure that "it look like an accident" and thus potentially avoid a messy international incident, the number of witnesses and left over evidence had to be minimal. Therefore, the disappearance and presumed drowning in a surfing accident seemed ideal.

To the official in charge, it was too tempting to ignore. Visioning Colby struggling for air, being forced further and further from the surface by an assailant wearing the flag of China, now knowing why and by whom he had been targeted just before he breathed his last breath made the official in charge giddy.

Having discovered from their surveillance that Colby spent most days off surfing in the early morning hours, the plan began to take form. Like most surfers, Colby had a preferred spot. So the location was easily scouted and the assassination team was even able to stage several mock run-throughs under the cover of darkness. On this particular morning, Colby's first day off in the past several weeks, there was little doubt of his routine. Of that, he did not disappoint.

Now, as Colby sat languidly atop the board, bobbing rhythmically with the water's movement below, beneath him someone was waiting. As they watched his legs withdraw from the water and his arms appear on either side of the board, paddling forward, the long awaited plan was finally put in motion.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Colby was silently pleased that he was able to catch the the tailing swells of a storm earlier in the week. Nowhere near what they had been just a few days prior when he'd been bogged down with work and a never-ending stakeout, the waves were still better than ususal for this part of southern California. Having taken his time so far, Colby was looking over his left shoulder at the approaching waves. With the water cleared of all but a few of his fellow early morning surfers, Colby felt pretty lucky at that moment that he would be getting a nice, uncrowded bit of ocean all to himself.

He picked his wave, a good one about head high, paddled forward, popped up to his feet and dropped in. Nothing fancy, not today. Just a clean, efficient, slightly-longer than average ride. "God, this feels good", Colby thought to himself. The same thought that often popped up when he hit the waves after missing a few days, once again came to his mind. "I don't know how Don and Charlie could grow up so close to the water and never learn how to surf. Well...Charlie I guess it's no real surprise. But Don? That was surprising". The thought, as well as any others, was quickly pushed out of his mind, as he felt the rush of the ride this particular wave was providing.

When the wave broke and Colby was knocked from the board and into the water, he smiled to himself. The smile of man who was shedding any tension or life stressors. He quickly glanced above him to determine the location of his board in order to avoid popping up directly underneath it and cracking his head on the polyurethaneand and fibreglass boad. Having done that more than a few times when he was first learning how to surf, Colby now instinctively knew to check his overhead surroundings before surfacing.

With a bit of kicking and some upwards propelling from his arms, Colby would have surfaced, clear of his board or any other surfers. However, the two-man team sent to end his life had coordinated their positions perfectly. The lead member of that team was 10 to 20 meters below and slightly behind Colby. With the aid of fins and an oxygen tank, the lead attacker was gaining ground quickly, with no one to stop or observe him. The second member of the team was the spotter. He had done his job perfectly, placing the lead exactly where he needed to be. Colby was only a couple of kicks from the surface when he felt something wrap around his ankles and violently pull him further under. The rope which tethered his leg to the Hagen was roughly cut, leaving the board bobbing in the surf like a cork. Its rider nowhere to be seen.

Shocked wasn't the right word to describe Colby's re-action to having been pulled further underwater by a force unseen to him at that point. Rather, if he'd been asked or in a position to answer, Colby would have said it was instanetanous feeling of disbelief, mixed with confusion and annoyance. Fear and then panic would follow shortly therafter, once it became clear something, as opposed to seaweed, kelp or coral, had targeted him and was deliberately attempting to force him away from the surface. For a split second, Colby thought he'd been attacked by a shark. That thought, no matter how brief, was enough to send his adrenaline sky rocketing. However, glancing below towards his feet and lower legs, Colby could see that it his attacker was a mammal of the human variety.

As the lead attacker attempted to force out whatever air remained in Colby's lungs by pulling him further away from the surface, Colby was struggling to break free of what seemed to be iron grip on his lower legs. Now slightly disoriented and attempting to keep the panic at bay, Colby thrashed about while attempting to pull himself up with his arms towards the surface and the awaiting fresh air. The life and death struggle taking place under the water continued for what seemed, to a man deprived of oxygen for too long, to be an eternity, but in actuality was closer to a minute.

The army had trained him well for hand to hand combat. And if this particular struggle were taking place in the desert, someone's backyard or anywhere on land in general, Colby's odds of getting the upper hand were better than average. However, neither the army or the FBI had offered any training in underwater combat. Simply put, there had been no need for it. Now if he'd pursued a position in the Navy Seals (his second choice after the army), perhaps he'd know exactly how to resist this particular attack. Clearly his attacker, however, was well versed in this particular type of combat. Even in the overwhelming urgency of the situation, that was a fact not lost on Colby. Colby was also full aware that if he did not access fresh air in the next few seconds, his body would succumb to the natural, involuntary response to inhale on its own. Inhaling only water, without replenishing the oxygen his lungs and muscles were screaming for, would quicken his death.

By the primal will to live, a well-placed lucky kick to his attacker's face and the oxygen capacity of someone of his level of fitness, Colby was able to briefly break free of the hold around his legs. Straining desperately for the surface and the air he needed to survive, Colby felt himself reach the top of the frothy white water. A quick scream for help, followed by a mouthful full of air and salt water, and he was pulled down again beneath the surface. Fortunately, he was now close enough to the surface that he was able to surface a few more times in the struggle, one or two times managing a quick yell, followed by small amounts of air and unfortunately large mouthfuls of salt water.

Colby's first few calls for help were enough to alert the two remaining surfers in the water.

Oscar, the fire department battalion chief, who had been surfing these waters for nearly 40 years had watched Colby paddle off in front of what looked like it was going to provide a pretty nice ride. Having seen Colby regularly for the past several years, the two men were friendly acquaintances. Although, their discussions were limited mainly to surfing, the water, and the weather, Oscar had come to respect the quiet, younger man from Idaho. Colby's surfing ability was without question. But it was the deference he had shown to the water and the regulars when he first arrived (and continued to demonstrate) that impressed Oscar the most.

Now in his mid-50s, Oscar continued to surf for the tranquility it offered. He was content to watch the younger generation surf with the fearlessness he once possessed but could no longer maintain after injuring his leg in a workplace accident a few years earlier. Aware of Colby's skill and precision on a board, Oscar was looking forward to seeing what the young man was about to do on one of the day's better breaks. As he would later tell his wife, he enjoyed watching Colby surf not because it was anything higher than his own skill level, but because it reminded him of himself before age and injury had slowed him down.

Oscar had seen Colby knocked from the board. It was such a regular part of surfing that he didn't pay much at first. However, after a few moments of contemplating his own next ride, Oscar's attention was redirected to general area of where he'd last seen Colby. From his vantage point, he could see only the yellow of Colby's board. Scanning the top of the water, he was unable to locate the young man he knew casually and seen just a minute or two earlier. Oscar was immediately concerned and in a brief internal exchange tried to rationalize that Colby was a strong swimmer and a good surfer. However, because Colby was both of those things, that he hadn't resurfaced, was nowhere to be seen and his board was left to float atop the waves on its own, told Oscar that something was indeed very wrong.

Closest to Oscar in the water was Everett Anderson, a 30-year old paramedic with the LAFD. Everett and Oscar had known each other for a few years through their respective employment. Similarly, Everett was also vaguely familiar with Special Agent Colby Granger of the FBI, having "officially" met him at a few crime scenes recently.

In actuality, Everett probably knew more about Special Agent Granger than he did about Colby the recreational surfer. When the incident with Carter and Mason Lancer made the press, Everett recognized FBI Agent Granger as someone previously known to him only as "yellow Hagen". Although not on board the Chinese freighter two years earlier when Colby's heart had stopped beating, Everett had heard a fair deal about it from his paramedic friends and one particularly chatty friend in law enforcement.

Respecting Colby's privacy, Everett never mentioned what he knew, heard or read about the incident on the freighter or Colby's undercover work. He did, however, once tell his long-time girlfriend that she need not worry about his surfing so early in the morning. Even though he barely knew most of the guys there at that time of day, there were a few that he believed he could trust with his life. On this particular morning, however, Colby would need both Everett and Oscar, two men that he barely knew, to save his own life.

Time and oxygen were, for Colby, rapidly depleting.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Around the same time that Oscar became aware that Colby was nowhere to be seen, Everett had made the same observation. Speaking quickly, the two men began to paddle towards the rider-less board. Constantly scanning the surface for any sign of the missing surfer, they were about 275 meters away from the board when they heard Colby's call for help. Although he was only able to break the surface for a few quick moments before disappearing back under water, it was enough to alert his two would-be rescuers to his location.

The two men paddled furiously towards where they had seen Colby briefly break free from the surface. Calling to the three lone individuals who remained on the beach to alert 911 and the off-duty lifeguard unit, at that moment both Everett and Oscar were considering the possibility of a shark attack. It was just so outside of the realm of possibility for that particular area of water, that it almost seemed like the only explanation. For however unlikely a shark attack was, it was as Charlie Eppes might have blathered, certainly more statistically possible than an underwater assassination attempt by two Chinese-trained killers acting under an execution plan two years in the making.

Hampered by the amount of salt water he'd taken in and the rapidly depleting amount of oxygen, a weakened Colby was finally dragged further below the surface. With the lead attacker now directly behind him, a large powerful arm wrapped around his neck and having been deprived of enough oxygen, Colby continued to struggle but felt his vision and efforts fading.

Although whatever energy he had left was focused solely on breaking free of the physical hold the stronger, bigger attacker had on him, his mind was screaming, "not like this".

During his time in Afghanistan, Colby had learned what most soldiers learn. That the only way to deal with the situations you face and the fear that threatens to overwhelm you is to accept that you are already dead and anything you do from that point on is to save the lives of your brothers. If he were completely honest with himself, Colby would probably agree he hadn't let go of that way of thinking. It would certainly explain the inordinate amount of physical risks he had taken over the years since joining the FBI.

Despite any acceptance he may have had that he was, for lack of a better phrase, a Dead Man Walking, Colby believed that his "real" death would ultimately be in the line of duty or, if he was lucky, the random effects of old age. Preferably the later. That he would die doing something he loved, something that brought him the peace he needed to continue to do a job he loved, was not something that he had ever thought possible. That someone would actively try to drown him, for no reason he could contemplate at that specific moment was unfathomable.

Since the age of 15, following the death of his father, Colby had taken great pride in his independence and ability to take care of himself. Of course his mother had been there with the comfort and care that mothers generally provide, but from that moment on, Colby had committed himself to the idea that the only person he should…or would… ever rely on was himself. The army had tested that commitment and there were a few times when he would surrender to the possibility that he might need the assistance of someone else.

Dwayne Carter was one of those times.

Perhaps it was because of how much Colby wanted to be responsible for his own life and safety that he had felt so much was owed to Dwayne for pulling him out of that burning Humvee. Perhaps that was why he had agreed to a two-year long undercover operation, six weeks in jail, the bombing of a prison transport vehicle he happened to be riding in and finally boarding a fast-moving boat to China with no backup and no idea if anyone even knew where or who he really was. Perhaps it all Colby's subconscious trying to be there for Dwayne, and possibly protect him, when it all inevitably went to hell. Like Dwayne had done for him.

As Colby now struggled against his attacker, it was a shock to him that he was loosing ground. Owing to his iron will to be solely responsible for his own life and safety, as well as to a little luck and excellent teammates, Colby was rarely on the loosing side of a battle, sprint, leap, take-down or gun fight. Unable to summon the thought process in the middle of his life or death struggle to ascertain why or by whom he had been targeted, and as he involuntarily inhaled even more water, Colby was clearly aware that he desperately needed help. If that help didn't come soon, he hoped someone would eventually find his body. His mother deserved that much.

Unbeknownst to Colby, for the two Chinese-trained killers, the execution plan was quickly unraveling. It had already taken too long. Two nearby surfers were trying to reach Colby. The small number of individuals left on the beach had been alerted to call 911 and had likely done so. The primary plan of attack was no longer feasible. Having been unable to force Agent Granger's premature death by "accidental" drowning and with witnesses now aware of his struggles in the water, only two options remained. Abandon the mission or resort to other means.

Abandoning the mission at this juncture, with Agent Granger alive and relatively uninjured, was not really an option. Colby was now obviously very much aware that someone, equipped for a covert underwater assault, specifically trained in such forms of combat, was trying to kill him. How long would it be before the Chinese espionage machine made its way to the top of the list of potential suspects with both the motive and means necessary to carry out such an attack?

Similarly, to finally render Colby unconscious and leave him to drown was also unacceptable at this stage, as the two nearby surfers would likely find him within a short period of time, in which case resuscitation and survival was a strong possibility.

As a result, neither of these options held much favour if the attack team itself was to live to see another day. The lead attacker, aware of the information relayed by the spotter to his ear piece, made the quick and necessary decision to resort to other means. There was no longer any way they could make Agent Granger's death appear to be an accident. The only real option, therefore, was to complete the task, ensure the end result and leave as little evidence as possible.

The attacker could feel Colby's struggles and attempts to fight him off diminishing. It was enough to tip the scales to the assailant, who was now reaching with his free hand for the ka-bar knife strapped to leg. On the brink of loosing consciousness, tragically the last thing Colby would see was a knife appearing in front of him. Mercifully, he would not feel it as it dragged across his neck. Succumbing finally to the lack of oxygen and added blood loss, Colby's body slackened. Released from the grips of his attacker, his body began to slowly sink towards the ocean floor below.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

As Colby's attacker and the spotter were making quick retreats from their respective positions, Oscar and Everett, had reached the general area of where they believed they had last seen Colby. Although they had yet to rule out a shark attack, neither man had seen any evidence of one or the tell-tale fins. Still, with no signs of Colby, both men knew they needed to enter the water and search below the surface. A decision made in an instance, founded in their character, both men rolled off their respective boards and dove under water.

Spreading outward in a makeshift search pattern, each man had repeated their dive underneath, search and resurface for more air, several times without success. Without having to check their watches, both men were aware of the time that had passed since they had last seen Colby before he disappeared beneath the frothy water. By their respective training and unfortunate past experiences, both men knew if they didn't find the young man from Idaho within the next couple of dives, they would be conducting a search and recovery mission, as opposed to one of search and rescue.

With a silent plea for help...to whomever might listening or in charge of such things…Oscar tried to slow his breathing enough in order to intake the sufficient amount of oxygen necessary for another search of the water below. Although the several minutes Colby had now been underwater were potentially fatal to any chance of survival, it was not nearly enough time for the 911 or off-duty lifeguard unit responders to arrive, organize and aid in the efforts. This was something Oscar was clearly aware of. The next couple of minutes were critical.

Approximately 40 metres away, Everett was also taking a few quick breaths before diving again underwater in his ongoing, bordering now on desperate, attempt to find the FBI agent and surfer he had come to respect. Everett was having no luck and a feeling of dread, tinged with disbelief and sadness, was becoming more pronounced. About to make what he figured were now hopeless dives, he would still continue his attempts until the lifeguards and 911 responders entered the water and deemed it to be a matter of recovery. While Everett was continuing his valiant, but fruitless efforts, Oscar was at first elated, and then immediately horrified, to find Colby's slowly sinking body and trail of blood in approximately 15 feet of water.

Wrapping an arm underneath Colby's shoulders and across his chest, Oscar made haste for the surface. Reaching fresh air, Oscar quickly called out to Everett, who was by now several meters away. Aware that Colby wasn't breathing, Oscar made the painful but necessary decision to attempt rescue breathing before trying to swim to shore. Simply put, Colby didn't have the luxury of time for breathing to be re-established if he was going to survive. If the body and brain were deprived of oxygen for too long, it wouldn't matter how quickly he was returned to dry land.

Everett, a strong swimmer, was able to bridge the distance quickly. Together, the two men briefly considered and discarded the idea of somehow getting Colby onto a board and paddling him in. Instead, Everett, who was the stronger of the two, would swim Colby into the shore, with Oscar attempting perform rescue breathing at regular intervals in an effort to maintain the flow of oxygen. The source of the obvious blood loss would have to wait as the would-be rescuers lacked the time and resources to address it. In the meantime, with no idea of what exactly had happened to Colby or the exact nature of his injuries, the men did what they could to protect and stabilize the neck in case of a spinal injury.

With the few of the remaining surfers on the beach, having been alerted to the distress in the water, a couple had swum out to aid Oscar and Everett in carrying their young friend to the relative safety of the beach. The one or two who remained on shore were coordinating with 911 to direct the incoming ambulance crew to their exact location on the beach. Laying Colby down in the hard sand, just past the water's edge, Everett quickly assessed the situation. Initially unsure of the source of Colby's blood loss, Everett soon found the neck wound.

The water temperatures in southern California were, to the surprise of most tourists, not particularly warm, especially at that time of year. Colby, having lived in Los Angeles for the past several years, and an avid surfer, was well aware of just exactly how cold the water could be. As a result, on that particular morning, he was wearing a wetsuit vest underneath his full body neoprene suit. Both the full body wetsuit and the vest underneath fortunately came up high around the neck and only slightly below the chin. The double layering of neoprene was a fateful decision that had otherwise prevented the knife from slicing deeper into his neck or nicking the jugular vein. Additionally, the natural tightness of the wetsuit served as a helpful pressure bandage which slowed an otherwise rapid blood loss and quick death.

Not sure of what to do and feeling quite helpless, one of the fellow surfers who helped carry Colby to the beach had swum out the short distance to retrieve the stray yellow Hagen which was being carried into to shore on the tide. With a flash of inspiration, he cut the leash dangled from one end of the board, grabbed a towel and brought both to Everett.

In the meantime, Everett had quickly assessed the neck wound and found it to be not as deep as he feared. More importantly, it was potentially non-life threatening, provided that help arrived soon. Fashioning a tourniquet out of the towel and leash, Everett did what he could to stop the bleeding and move on to the more pressing problem, the continued inability to find a pulse and the absence of any breath sounds.

With Oscar already kneeling at Colby's side, Everett gave quick instructions to begin compressions, while he would administer mouth to mouth resuscitation. Oscar motioned towards the blue-ish tinge of Colby's lips and fingernails, fully aware that both were indicative of cyanosis and a serious shortage of oxygen to the blood. Everett, already aware of the signs, could do nothing but grimly nod his acknowledgement and start the count for the chest compressions. The desperation each man felt with every compression and attempts to breathe for Colby that went without response was alleviated somewhat at hearing the sirens of the approaching ambulance. Even Everett, himself a paramedic, was relieved. Although both men believed their relief was in the knowledge that ambulance crew had more means at its disposal to save Colby's life, there was a very small part of them that was relieved to think now they wouldn't have to be present at the moment when it became clear that no amount of effort would bring Colby back.

The ambulance crew arrived at the shoreline where Colby lay motionless and was given a brief rundown of the necessary particulars by Everett. Given their best guess, it was anywhere from 5 to 8 minutes that Colby had been either underwater, deprived of oxygen and now without a pulse. As the ambulance crew was about to do a "scoop and run", Colby sputtered out a mixture of blood and water. Although he did not regain consciousness, at least his breathing, for however weak, had been re-established. Assisted by Everett, Oscar and the few remaining surfers had been on the beach when the horrific events unfolded, Colby was strapped to a backboard, carried up the beach and placed in the back of the ambulance for the quick ride to the nearby hospital. Oscar volunteered to drive, which would allow the two members of the ambulance crew to work on Colby. Everett remained at the beach. He had a call to make. A call that he was dreading.

Don Eppes was used to his cell phone ringing at all times of the day or night. What he had learned both on the job and in his personal life, was that any phone call received between the hours of 2am and 7am, was not one you wanted to receive. At 6:45am, this was one of those calls.

Having met Colby at a few crime scenes recently, Everett was fortunately able to remember the name of the lead agent who had been in charge and was Colby's boss. Obtaining the number of the FBI Building in Los Angeles from Directory Assistance, Everett was put through to the switchboard. Impressing upon the operator that the matter was urgent, Everett's call was eventually forwarded to Don Eppes' cell phone.

Don picked up the phone on the third ring, with a curt but obviously groggy "Eppes".

"Don, this is Everett Anderson. I'm a paramedic with the LAFD. We met a couple of months ago on the Matheson Murder".

Don recalled the case and the crime scene, but couldn't exactly put a face to the name of the man on the other end of the phone. Stalling, Don grunted something sounding close enough to a "yeah".

"Don, I don't really know how to tell you this, but something's happened".

Those were words, more or less, that Don was used to having to say to distraught family members. He had hoped he would never have to hear them himself.

What? Is it my father? My brother? Tell me exactly what happened and where you are", Don demanded.

"No, Don. It's Colby...and I wish I could tell you I knew what happened. We happen to surf at the same beach. This morning...uh....God, somehow Colby got dragged...or forced...or damn it, I don't know what, but Don, we found him unconscious in about 15 feet of water, with his neck cut open and no pulse". He's on route to the hospital right now, but I got to tell you that it doesn't look good".

Running his free hand across his forehead, Don was already up and throwing on a pair of jeans as Everett relayed the hospital information. About to quickly hang up so he could contact David and the rest of the team, Don froze when he heard Everett's next words. "Don, I don't want to tell you how to do your job, but you might want to send a team out here to pick up Colby's board and do some poking around". Almost daring himself to ask, Don forced out one word..."why?"

Everett paused briefly and responded, "because that neck wound was sure as hell to damn clean to have come from something you'd expect to find in the water".

"Stay there if you can. I've got to get to the hospital, but I'm sending a team right over".

And with that, Don was left with the unenviable task of notifying the rest of his team, all of whom would shortly be descending on a Los Angeles area hospital where they would have to wait for any word on Colby's fate.

**Author's Note: Thank you for all the lovely reviews and words of encouragement. I wish I could tell you that I'm happy with this recent Chapter, but all I can say is this fanfiction stuff is harder than I would have thought. Especially the dialogue. Its definitely given me a new respect for screenwriters. **


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Fully alert, Don immediately contacted the Bureau and one of their premier crime investigation teams was dispatched to the beach with instructions to report to Don within the hour of any initial findings.

In the meantime, as he grabbed his keys, badge and holster from the nightstand, slammed the front door shut and headed to his building's parking garage, Don was attempting to determine what exactly he would say to the members of his team. How much of what Everett had told him did the team really need to know at this immediate point? Could he really justify waking up three of Colby's closest friends from a dead sleep to tell them of the potential drowning, the neck wound, the absence of any pulse and the potentially suspicious nature of the incident, only to send them out on to the Los Angeles highways and roads full of adrenaline, fear and potential rage? Instead, Don made the difficult decision to head first to the hospital, calling only David, Liz and Nikki when he was less than a few blocks away and forcing himself to limit the information to a surfing accident. As he exited the parking garage and turned on the FBI issue sirens, heading east towards the hospital, Don told himself he was doing the right thing.

At the same time that Don had reached the painful decision to limit the information passed on to the team for the immediate time being, FBI Agent Colby Granger was in full cardiac arrest.

Equipped with an external defibrillator, the two paramedics working on Colby had already shocked him twice with no response. A third charge from the defibrillator, accompanied by a silent plea by Oscar who was up front, was fortunately successful in reestablishing Colby's heart rhythm just as the ambulance pulled into the hospital's ambulance bay.

Met by the ER physicians on call who were waiting for the incoming ambulance, the bus doors swung open and Colby was wheeled into the hospital amidst a flurry of instructions and activity. As the gurney was swallowed by a sea of hospital staff and carried out of Oscar's view, the foreboding feeling of helplessness remained. Oscar turned slowly and walked away from the ER. Identifying himself as a LAFD Battalion Chief to one of the other ambulance crews in the bay, he borrowed a cell phone and called his wife.

From the first time Oscar met Colby on a cold, early morning a few years ago, he had been impressed by the quiet confidence and easiness Colby consistently demonstrated. Although it was clear to Oscar that Colby was unwilling to share much of himself, he was always ready with a friendly wave, eager to listen to Oscar's stories from growing up surfing in the 1960s and encouraging to any of the newer surfers just starting out. Having once accidentally seen Colby's FBI identification when the younger man was attempting to retrieve an extra towel from the duffel bag he kept in his truck, Oscar knew enough from the look the two men exchanged that it was not a discussion or tidbit of information Colby wished to share or discuss further. Colby's surfing life, until this morning, was one that he kept separate from his work.

Because of the high regard Oscar had for Colby, and knowing that the young man's family was all out of state, he would not abandon him now, alone in an ER room. Oscar would remain at the hospital until Colby's friends or family arrived. In the meantime, having been present for each of the past three instances in the last half hour when Colby's heart had stopped beating, the need Oscar felt to hear his wife's voice was overwhelming.

Don was a few blocks away from the hospital when he used his speed dial to call David's cell phone. David, like Colby was supposed to have the day off. Not much of an earlier morning riser, particularly on his off days, it was no surprise to hear David attempting to mask the obvious sounds of an interrupted sleep from his voice once he noticed Don on his caller ID. Taking a deep breath, Don informed his younger teammate and second in charge, of Colby's "accident". Keeping it short, he told David only that Colby had been taken to the hospital and that they should meet up in the ER waiting room to find out any further information. Naturally concerned, given the depth of their friendship, David changed, brushed his teeth and headed for the hospital.

Having made similar calls to Liz and Nikki, Don parked in the closest available spot reserved for law enforcement and entered the ER. In order to keep his team focused and alert, Don needed to obtain as much information about Colby's condition and prognosis as possible before the others arrived and found out the true extent of his injuries.

Presenting his ID to the admissions clerk, Don was escorted to a nearby trauma room. Told to wait outside, Don could observe through the windowed doors a number of medical personnel working on the motionless Colby. From his vantage point, he could see Colby lying prone on a gurney, his feet bare and the telltale neoprene from the wetsuit visible starting above his ankles. The top part of Colby's wetsuit and vest had been cut away from the waist up. As the medical staff shifted positions and moved about the room, Don caught glimpses of what appeared to be a tracheal intubation tube, as well as adhesive pads fixed to Colby's bare chest which were a clear sign to the FBI veteran of the recent use of a defibrillator. A pool of blood was visible on the grey linoleum floor next to a discarded red stained towel and black rubber cord.

Although on its surface, the two situations were somewhat different, Don's current internal reaction was not that dissimilar from an event two years earlier when Colby's heart was forcibly stopped by a near lethal injection of potassium chloride.

Two years ago, on that Chinese freighter, Don had been unwilling to reveal the fear he felt that his actions may have, in some way, contributed to Colby lying motionless on the ground, unresponsive to David's frantic efforts to restart his heart. Don was almost so paralyzed by the "if onlys" at that time that he slow to respond to the urgency of the situation. If only he had been able to figure out what exactly it was in Colby's confession that didn't sit right, or if only he had trusted his initial instincts to accept what Colby had told him about Mike Kirkland and working undercover for counter intelligence. If only…then Colby wouldn't have literally died thinking no one had believed him and that no one was coming for him.

Now, standing outside a hospital trauma room, watching the ER team work, with the last bits of Everett's call playing on a constant loop in the background, Don was attempting to keep his fear at bay. His fear that he had again missed something, that there was something he ought to have been aware of that could have prevented all of this from happening. Determined that he would not again let his Agent down, Don kept asking himself, "what is this about? What am I missing?"

Shaken from his thoughts by the sounds of someone attempting to get his attention, Don looked to his right and noticed that one of the nurses from the trauma room was standing next to him, asking if he was a relative of Colby's. Confirming that Colby's family was out of state, Don advised that Colby was an off-duty FBI agent and that he was his boss. Impressing upon the nurse that he would need an immediate update on Colby's injuries and condition, the nurse nodded sympathetically and responded that his condition was stabilizing. Returning to the trauma room, she reassured Don that the doctor would be out in a few minutes to speak to him.

It was only a few moments later that the trauma room doors swung open and a still unconscious Colby was wheeled past, surrounded by three or four ER doctors and nurses in yellow gowns over their green scrubs. As they wheeled Colby towards the closest elevator and out of sight, Don was approached by a woman in her late 40s who identified herself as Dr. Preston, the ER attending physician. Having been informed by the nurse who had already spoken to Don, Dr. Preston was aware that Agent Granger's boss would need a full briefing of whatever they could tell him about Colby's injuries and their potential source.

As Don heard the grim details of the estimated time Colby had been underwater without oxygen, the cardiac arrest, the three attempts it took to restart his heart on route to the hospital and the surgery required to close the neck wound which would have to wait until he was fully stable, Don maintained his focus on the primary question in his mind that needed answering. The question he had been fixated on since first receiving Everett's call. What exactly could she tell him about the neck wound? How deep was it? Where did it start and finish? Was it clean? Although she was not trained in forensics, as an ER physician, Dr. Preston had seen enough knife wounds over her career that she was able to say with a great deal of certainty that Agent Granger's had undoubtedly come from a knife or similarly sharp instrument utilized with some precision.

Don now had the one answer he needed most. What had happened to Colby that morning was no accident. While the other questions remained, they would, however, have to wait. David, Liz and Nikki were about to arrive in the ER. They were about to discover that Colby's condition was far worse than they thought and that he had been specifically targeted by an unknown assailant(s). Although they wouldn't immediately know the reason behind the attack, they would certainly be prepared to do anything possible to make sure no one returned to finish the job, even if that meant laying their own lives on the line. None of them needed to say what they all knew…that it was exactly what Colby would have done for any of them.

**Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone who has been so supportive in their reviews! I really do appreciate it. Sorry for the delay in getting the new chapter updated, hopefully the next chapters will be a bit quicker though. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Advised of the extent of Colby's injuries and the anticipated prognosis, Don secured as evidence, the red stained towel and black rubber cord he had noticed discarded on the floor of the trauma room earlier and returned to the hospital ER waiting area. Although the rest of the team had not yet arrived, Don knew they would be there shortly. Walking through the waiting room towards the front doors leading to the parking lot, Don pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, intending to call the office. As he hit the familiar number on his speed dial, a man sitting near the entrance caught his attention.

The man, unfamiliar to Don, appeared to be in his early 50s and was conspicuously out of place sitting in a hospital ER waiting room wearing a full body wet suit, with a blanket thrown over his shoulders. Recognizing in the man's body language the telltale signs of emotional exhaustion and spent adrenaline from witnessing a traumatic event, Don was intuitively aware that the gentleman was somehow connected to the morning's earlier events, Don kept his focus on the man while at the same time searching out a more private spot of the waiting room from where he could call the office.

Satisfied that he was out of earshot of any curious ears, Don was put through to the emergency response unit. Conferencing in his direct supervisor and the lead agent of the team he previously sent out to the beach to investigate, Don relayed the morning events and his suspicions that someone had deliberately targeted Agent Granger with the intent to kill. Without hesitation, Don's request for protection detail was immediately granted and the emergency response unit liaison confirmed they would make the assignment a top priority, sending over two SWAT members to guard Agent Granger's hospital room.

The lead agent already out at the beach, had only just arrived at the scene but was able to confirm they had located and secured Agent Granger's surfboard and were in the process of obtaining a statement from off-duty paramedic Everett Anderson. Additional statements were being obtained from the remaining two or three surfers who had been present on the beach when Agent Granger's distress in the water became clear. Unfortunately, none so far could offer any explanation for what had happened just an hour earlier. No one could recall seeing anything out of the ordinary. Sensing Don's frustration and cutting off what was likely to be an angry tirade, the lead agent quickly confirmed they had only just begun their investigation and he would be bringing everyone in for further questioning.

Eager to speak with the older gentleman he had seen earlier in the ER, Don once again confirmed two SWAT agents would be immediately dispatched to the hospital to stand guard. He then ended the call with the vague vow to provide a further update on Agent Granger's condition once it became known. Snapping the phone shut, Don moved away from his quiet corner in the waiting room and towards the exhausted looking gentleman sitting a few rows of chairs away. Making eye contact, Don discretely flashed his badge and gestured towards the ambulance bay doors. The man nodded, rose from his seat and approached Don. Introducing himself as Oscar Duffy, a battalion chief with the Fire Department, the two men shook hands and stepped outside.

With the prior knowledge that Colby was also an FBI agent, Oscar asked, "I take it you're here about what happened this morning at the beach".

Lacking any clear motive and specific details behind the attack, Don remained wary of anyone associated with the event. As a result, he narrowed his eyes and brusquely replied. "Yes and I take it you were there. I need you tell me exactly what happened and what you were doing there this morning".

Having spent his entire working life with the Fire Department, Oscar was used to dealing with abruptness of law enforcement officers. He had also been present for each of the three times Colby's heart had stopped within the past hour. Aware of how he himself felt having been part of such a horrific event, and only knowing Colby casually, Oscar could only imagine what the man before him, someone who knew Colby quite well and was likely a good friend, was probably feeling. Therefore, he told himself not to take Don's hostility and apparent suspicion personally.

Having had the opportunity to consider the timeline and events, while waiting in the ER, Oscar was able to provide a quick snapshot starting from when he arrived at the beach, later observing Colby's subsequent arrival, the young agent's uneventful first few rides of the morning, followed by an unusual break and Colby's apparent need for some solitude before taking off on what looked like it was going to be a pretty nice ride. From that point on, Oscar relayed the remaining events in somewhat of a haze, his eyes no longer focused on Don, but at some point on the wall behind him, transported back to the events as they unfolded. Almost as though in reliving the event, he could somehow willfully change the outcome.

Don recognized the symptoms of guilt in one's perceived failure to prevent an otherwise unpreventable event. It was something he was familiar with.

Unwilling to yet dismiss anyone who had been present at the scene as a potential suspect, but cognizant enough of the real regret Oscar demonstrated as having been unable to "save" Colby from the attack, Don took down the older man's information and suggested that he might want to go home. Accepting that he wasn't abandoning Colby and recognizing that he needed to escape the cloud hanging over both himself and the hospital, Oscar looked Don in the eye and quietly demanded, "do whatever you have to, to find out what the hell happened this morning" and with an emphasis on "when", Oscar added, "when Colby wakes up, tell him I'm thinking of him and looking forward to seeing him back at the beach real soon".

As Oscar's taxi departed the hospital, Don could see David making his way towards the entrance. Don hoped Liz and Nikki weren't too far behind as he wanted to avoid having to relay the morning's sickening events more than once. Fortunately, he caught a glimpse of Liz's car pulling into the parking lot. Nikki, who lived the furthest away, was only a few minutes behind. Having stalled David enough, so that the team (minus one), was now accounted for, Don took a deep breath and began the unenviable task.

"Look, there's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it. Colby was pretty seriously injured this morning. I can't tell you what happened, because we just don't know at this point. But it looks like something or more likely someone attempted to slit his throat and left him to drown."

"Now, luckily he was found pretty quickly and they were able to revive him. When I got here he was still unconscious and the prognosis guarded. The neck wound isn't life threatening and it doesn't appear to have damaged his vocal cords. He will need some surgery though. The bigger problem is the effects of the near-drowning and the lack of oxygen to the brain. We won't know any more about that though until he wakes up".

All three of Colby's teammates were reeling from the news. David, clenching his fists began to pace and pepper Don with questions, before breaking away and heading for the ER to find his partner. As though he needed to assure himself that Colby was alive, safe and receiving even more than the necessary amount of care. Liz, with her hand subconsciously around her own neck, was trying to remain composed, eyes glistening with the tears she was refusing to shed. Nikki, although obviously concerned and fearful for her teammate, felt awkward and out of place, having only recently insulted Colby's integrity which had lead to a somewhat strained relationship between the two.

Don, sensing Nikki's unease, dispatched her to the beach to follow up with the investigation there. The remaining teammates, lead by David, headed into the hospital, intent on seeing their friend. Together they entered the ICU waiting room. Although the general rule permitted no more than two visitors at a time, Dr. Preston had made the necessary arrangements to allow the team to briefly visit Colby together. Following the initial visit, however, they would have to observe the hospital rules of limited visitors. Escorted by the charge nurse, they were given a quick update on Colby's condition and were relieved to hear that their friend had been upgraded to stable. Although Colby had yet to regain consciousness, he was expected to shortly, at which time neurologist on call would be able to better assess whether the lack of oxygen had resulted in any brain damage. Collectively, each member of the team felt a catch in their throat at such a mention.

David was the first two enter Colby's room in the ICU. Although this was not the first time David had observed his partner lying motionless in a hospital bed, no such previous experience would ever prepare him for the experience. Further, having been witness to a number of Colby's daring exploits in the line of duty over the years, from which he always emerged unscathed, David had a subconscious belief that Colby was as close to indestructible as humanly possible. Because of that belief, to now see his partner and closest friend hooked up to various machines, with a heavy gauze bandage wrapped around his neck, felt like a blow to the chest. Knowing that someone had specifically targeted Colby with the intention to brutally end his life, David made a silent vow that those responsible would be brought to justice. Although he would never act outside of the law in the pursuit of justice, not even in a situation such as this one, David made peace with the fact that he would, on this occasion, stretch his own personal code of conduct if it meant someone would be held accountable for Colby's current state.

Liz followed David into Colby's room in the ICU. Unprepared, she was the most visibly shaken by the scene. Refusing to let either Don or David see the grief and fear on her face, Liz turned away from Colby's bed to face the wall. Regaining her composure, she brushed a stray tear from her cheek and approached the bed. Taking one of Colby's hands in hers, she bent forward and whispered into his ear, letting him know that he was not alone...that his friends were with him, just waiting for him to wake up. Caught up in her swirling emotions, Liz brushed her lips against Colby's forehead, gave his hand a squeeze and stepped back. She was too concerned and too focused on Colby to care what Don or David might have taken away from having observed such a personal and private moment. A moment that, when she would look back, would take Liz herself by surprise yet also seem entirely instinctual.

Having already been a part of one prior interoffice relationship, Liz had made a promise to herself that she would never blur that line again. It was a promise that a first seemed quite easy to keep. However, the more time she spent with Colby, Liz began to recognize in herself the telltale sales of physical attraction. The emotional attraction would follow shortly thereafter...as the two youngest members of the team began to spend an increasing amount of time together outside of the office, usually stopping for drinks or a bite to eat after work. During all that time, however, Colby had never once hinted at pursuing anything other than friendship. As a result, Liz accepted that Colby saw her as a sister. Perhaps that explained the ready teasing and frequent good-natured insults she tossed in Colby's direction. Perhaps it was a self-defence or self-preservation mechanism. Whatever the explanation, she had been more than capable of maintaining the facade...until now. Seeing Colby now, motionless...colourless...had shattered that facade. She was, however, a professional and would quickly regain her composure to ensure no one, including herself, would ever really know how much she really cared or how much it really hurt.

Don, having caught a glimpse of Colby earlier, and having simply had more time to process the information and morning's events, was the most prepared to see Colby lying in an ICU hospital bed. That certainly didn't make it easy. As David left the room to find someone to explain Colby's injuries and conditions in more detail, Don moved closer to the bed. Not sure of what he wanted to say, Don clasped the bed rail with both hands and searched for the right words. Not finding them, he gave Colby's hand a squeeze and muttered in a low voice, "Come on brother, fight this. Fight this so you can tell me what the hell happened".

As David returned to the room, his frustration and concern clearly visible, Colby began to stir. His movements were slight, nearly imperceptible at first. A slight movement in his left hand, followed by a small turn of the head and a quiet groan. As his eyes slowly opened and attempted to focus, his three closest friends held their collective breaths. Unwilling themselves to give in to elation or hope, just yet.

**Author's Note: Sorry for Liz's Colby-crush. But what can I say, I can't blame her. **


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Colby was slowly becoming aware of a persisting electronic beeping sound and the feeling of weighted pressure on his chest. As he gradually began to make his way back to consciousness; confusion, mixed with grogginess and pain, made it difficult for him to focus. Unable to recall much, beyond his own name, at that point, Colby did have the benefit of unfortunate past experiences waking up in a hospital bed with a limited recollection of how he came to be there. As a result, he accepted, or at least hoped for now that he was once again in a hospital somewhere. How he came to be there was a question that would have to wait.

Trying to pull himself from the depths of unconsciousness, Colby moved his left arm slightly and attempted to open his eyes. As the fog surrounding him slowly dissipated, he felt an involuntary groan escape his lips. The pressure and ache he felt in his chest and ribs were not unfamiliar. However, not yet fully conscious and with his mind clouded by pain, it would not be until much later that he would recognize the familiar physical after effects of being on the receiving end of manual chest compressions. In the meantime, there was a more pressing problem. A feeling as though he were suffocating.

Alerted to Colby's movement and struggle to return to consciousness, David, Don and Liz moved closer to the hospital bed. From where they stood they could see Colby move his left hand slightly and turn his head to the side. They watched him open his eyes, seemingly unaware of their presence, and attempt to focus. As David was about to reach down to touch his partner's left hand, to let him know he wasn't alone, his own eyes narrowed. He had seen in Colby's eyes what the increasing sounds from the heart rate monitor were about to announce. David reached for the emergency call button just as Colby's heart rate began to skyrocket.

Agitated, in pain, and with the tracheal intubation tube causing a tremendous amount of discomfort, Colby began to involuntarily suffocate. Where his initial movements had been slight…weak, the panic from being unable to breathe caused a surge of adrenaline. His right arm shot up in an attempt to pull out the tracheal tube, which his mind was irrationally screaming was the source of his inability to breathe. As his hand fumbled for the tube and grabbed hold, David was the quickest to respond. Concerned that Colby might cause further injury to himself, particularly so given the fresh neck wound. David placed one hand over top of Colby's, the other on his friend's shoulder and forced his partner to let go of his grasp on the tube.

Moving closer, to within Colby's vision, David attempted to reach past his friend's panic and desperation to breath, to try and calm him down. Speaking forcefully, he gave his friend's shoulder a squeeze. "Colby, listen to me….Colby!....it's okay….everything is okay…just try to relax….you're safe….Colby, look at me…". As the ICU nurse and the attending physician entered the room, David was forced to let go of his partner's hand and step back from the hospital bed. The desperation in Colby's eyes forever ingrained in his own.

Colby couldn't be sure, but for a brief moment he thought he had heard David's voice talking to him. However, in his frantic attempts to breathe, he was unable to concentrate on what David might have been saying, he only knew that he needed to remove whatever it was that was constricting his throat and squeezing the air from lungs. David would have to wait. Something or someone was holding his arms, preventing him from pulling at whatever he was choking on. In his mind, someone was deliberately attempting to suffocate him. With a flash of recall, Colby was taken back to another fight, involuntarily inhaling large mouthfuls of water as he fought another individual denying him oxygen. His mind, now completely removed from its earlier groggy awareness of hopefully lying in a hospital bed, had returned to morning's earlier events. Believing his current struggle to breathe was an extension of the earlier efforts to end his life, Colby's heart rate was steadily rising. To dangerous levels.

Pushed out of the way by the influx of additional staff responding to the trauma occurring in Colby's room of the ICU, his teammates could only watch as he attempted to resist the medical staff which tried to hold him down. From where they stood, just outside the room's entrance, with a feeling of anger mixed with grim understanding, they observed the staff place both of Colby's arms in restraints. As the staff continued its work, the monitors continued to sound their alarms of distress.

This was not the first time David had stood outside of an ICU room, waiting for word on his partner. More than two years ago, he had stood next to Megan, radiating a mixture of guilt, resentment and relief. At that time, he had been the first to see the youngest member of their team unconscious, callously tied to a chair, with a needle sticking out of chest. He had been the one to identify the source of the lethal injection and the absence of any heartbeat. He had been the one to cut the restraints, catch Colby's lifeless body before it pitched forward and lay him on the dirty ground. He had been the one who frantically administered chest compressions, demanding his partner to respond.

He had watched the medevac lift off with still no response and accepted that Colby was dead. He had then spent the next several hours clearing the scene, waving Don and Megan off as they rush back to shore to follow Colby. As he secured the vessel's remaining occupants, was transported back to shore and made his way to the hospital, it was with the burdening belief that Colby was dead and he was to blame.

That guilt was almost easier to accept than the deeper, more troubling image that Colby had died in the dirty bowels of a freighter, restrained like a criminal, thinking no one, especially his own friends, had believed him and that no one was coming for him. When he had arrived at the hospital several hours later, it was to find his friend's body and privately ask for forgiveness.

To hear instead that Colby had survived, his vitals stabilized and was resting in ICU, was a confusing relief. Relieved for Colby, the Granger family and himself that Colby had survived and cleared his name, David's anger and resentment returned, at being lied to and having believed the lie when he ought to have known better. With Colby alive and expected to fully recover, David now had a target to blame for his guilt.

Returning to the present day, standing in front of another ICU room after another attempt to end his partner's life, David shuddered at the memory of two years earlier and the painful recollections of how long he had allowed his own guilt to punish Colby, freezing him out, holding back his friendship. David wasn't sure if he would ever forgive himself for that. For everything that had lead to the moment of finding his partner's lifeless body back on that freighter. Although the two men would eventually repair their friendship and move on, David had vowed from there forward he would always have his partner's back.

**Author's Note: Again many many thanks to everyone who has took the time to review and offer words of encouragement. It is greatly appreciated. I apologize again for the delay, but in good news the next chapter is close to completion and will be uploaded in a day or two. **


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The flurry of activity in Colby's room eventually quieted. Through the wall of glass separating David, Don and Liz from their teammate, they could see Colby's body was once again lying still. The intubation tube still in place. His arms in restraints. As the attending physician in the ICU exited the room and approached, David was the first to speak. His words tinged with fury. With a flick of his hand he gestured towards the room and barked at the physician, "is that really necessary?".

"Sir, I understand you're upset. But, at the risk of sounding overly dramatic, that tube is literally saving your friend's life. It's giving his body the oxygen it can't get on its own at this point. Once he's stable enough for surgery and we can get in there to address the neck wound, he'll hopefully then be able to breathe entirely on his own. Until then though, we have to keep him intubated."

"Okay, I get that. But the restraints? He's a decorated FBI agent, not a criminal. I want those restraints removed and if you don't want to do that, I'll cut them off myself!"

The attending physician, whose first priority was to his patient was not one to be intimidated.

"Sir, you have to calm down and if you don't want to do that, I'll have you removed from the ICU myself. As you just witnessed, your friend is fighting the tube. With the damage to his neck and throat, and his hampered breathing, we can't risk him trying to pull the tube out again. Those restraints are for his own safety.

Attempting to break the tension and find some middle ground, Don intervened.

"Look, why don't you remove the restraints and I'll make sure that one of us is with Colby at all times. If he wakes up and tries to remove the tube, we can stop him and try to talk him down. Maybe seeing a familiar face will help."

The physician considered the request for the moment before conceding to Don's suggestion.

"Fine, as long as one of you is with him at all times. I don't think I have to stress again that he not be allowed to remove that tube on his own."

With that, David turned, made his way back to Colby's bedside and began to carefully remove the restraints.

As Don and Liz stood next to the attending physician quietly watching David tend to their teammate, they were given a brief rundown on Colby's condition. He would likely undergo surgery within a few hours to repair and close the neck wound and would remain sedated for several hours after that. He would eventually be weaned off the medication and expected to regain consciousness at some point the next morning. In order to determine if he was able to breath sufficiently on his own, Colby would remain intubated until then. As unpleasant as it was, the extubation process could only occur after Colby was fully conscious.

Recognizing that they were in for a long 24-hour bedside vigil, Don asked for, and received from the attending physician, the permission for his father to also spend some time sitting with Colby. He also advised, given what appeared to be an attack on a federal agent, that a guard was being assigned to Colby's room. And that was non-negotiable.

As the physician turned and made his way back to the ICU nursing station, Don ran his hand through his hair and muttered to himself, "this doesn't make any sense. What the hell is going on"? Grabbing his cell phone, about to make another call to the team investigating the scene at the beach, Don's attention was diverted to sight of Tim King and another SWAT team member he recognized, entering the ICU.

Taking a few steps towards the SWAT officers, Don extended his arm and shook hands with Tim. Tim was the first to speak.

"I heard Granger got himself to a bit of trouble this morning and well…we're here to make sure nothing else happens to him. No need to tell him this, but as far as I'm concerned he's SWAT family and well, you attack one us and it's an attack on all of us. Nothing is going to happen to Granger now. Not while we're here."

Knowing that Colby's safety was in good hands, Don was relieved that he could now narrow his focus to Colby's recovery and the attack itself. Patting Tim on the back, Don turned, gave Liz's arm a squeeze, and left the ICU to call both his father and the team at the beach.

Over the next 24hours, Colby would not regain consciousness. However, he was never alone. Even in surgery, SWAT stood guard outside of the OR, protecting their "brother". In ICU and recovery, either David, Liz or Alan were with him. Nikki and Don, although not at the hospital, had worked around the clock to piece together the events that had nearly cost their teammate his life.

Unfortunately, there was limited evidence. The two surfers who had saved Colby's life had no idea what had happened to him, other than one minute Colby had been enjoying a pretty nice ride and the next he was nowhere to be seen. None of the other surfers who had been at the beach that morning had seen anything out of the ordinary in the moments before his struggles in the water became known.

Colby's 6" Hagen surfboard and wetsuit offered no assistance. If there had been any evidence on either item, they had been washed away by the water. The only clue, such that it was, was the leash of Colby's board that had been used as a tourniquet to stem the blood loss and was retrieved by Don from the trauma room floor. Both ends of the leash were freshly cut. One of the surfer witnesses had confirmed he had cut the board end to use as a tourniquet. The other end of the leash, also neatly cut, was as he had found it. The velco cuff had remained strapped to Colby's ankle and was removed when the rest of his wetsuit had been cut away and he was dressed in a hospital gown upon being transferred to the ICU.

With nothing to go on, but grim photos the evidence collection unit had taken of Colby's neck prior to surgery, the discarded pieces of the wetsuit, the surfboard leash and the bruises on Colby's ankles, Don was certain the attack on Colby had started underwater, likely at the end of the ride Oscar and Everett had witnessed. Don was neither a surfer nor a mathematician. However, he didn't need to be either to know that for an attacker to be waiting at the exact spot where Colby's ride had come to an end required more than luck or speculation. It required specific equipment, co-ordination and the involvement of more than one person. While that certainly eliminated the chance that it had been a random attack, it did little to solve the questions of who and why.

More than 24 hours later, Colby finally began to regain consciousness. Having stopped by the hospital before heading home to grab a few quick hours of much-needed sleep, Don was sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to Colby when he began to stir. Hoping to prevent a repeat of Colby's earlier panic and desperate attempts to remove the intubation tube, Don was quick to respond. He moved closer and began to gently call Colby's name.

As had been the case the day earlier, Colby was at first aware of a persisting electronic beeping sound, weighted pressure in his chest and a painful obstruction in his throat. However, before he could fully give in to the panic and gagging reflexes, he became aware of someone calling his name. The voice, initially muffled and unfamiliar, was telling him everything was okay. Reassuring him that he was safe and in a hospital. As the haze began to clear, Colby was able to place the voice and turned his head slightly towards Don. Forcing his eyes open, Colby locked on Don's face and moved his right hand up towards the tube. Don responded by lightly taking hold of Colby's hand.

"No man, I'm sorry, but you can't go pulling that out. Let me get the doctor. Just try to relax."

Don located and pressed the emergency call button. The attending physician was quick to respond. Taking position on the other side of Colby's bed, the physician asked Don if he was comfortable remaining with Colby while they ran some quick tests to make sure he was ready to be extubated. Although not entirely comfortable witnessing such procedures, he agreed to stay with Colby if it would keep him calm long enough to get the tube out.

By the time David returned from grabbing a coffee and quick bite to eat, Colby had been extubated and was now awake and responsive. An oxygen mask, along with the damage to his throat from the knife wound and intubation, made it difficult for him to talk. Keeping the conversation light, knowing their friend had only just regained consciousness, Don and David did most of the talking, with Colby nodding or attempting to scratch down a few words with the pen and paper David had found.

It would be another 24 hours before Colby was able to talk somewhat more clearly. 24 hours after that a neurological assessment was performed, and to the relief of all, Colby did not appear to have sustained any brain damage from the lack of oxygen. 24 hours later, Colby was moved out of the ICU and into a private room. During that time, he had several visitors, including his team, the Director of the Los Angeles office, and his friends at CalSci. Ian Edgerton had also stopped by, volunteering to stand guard if needed.

Unfortunately, Colby's recollection of the events of a few days earlier was limited. He could recall nothing more than a desperate attempt to breath and a general memory of someone grabbing his legs and trying to drag him further underwater, Colby wasn't entirely certain, but he thought perhaps his attacker had been wearing some type of lightweight scuba gear. Something similar to what he thought the Navy SEALs or other paramilitary outfits used.

Colby's recollections confirmed what Don had already surmised. That the attack on Colby was a professional hit. Unfortunately, given Colby's line of work, there was a long list of resourceful, vengeful criminals with the financial resources and connections to orchestrate such a hit.

On the night before Colby was eventually to be released from the hospital, the team, along with Ian Edgerton and Tim King, met up at Alan's home in Pasadena where they could talk freely. It was there that Don spoke for the first time about his theory. His theory that the Chinese were behind the attack.

Setting out the rationale, the expertise used in carrying out the hit, the lack of any residual evidence, the absence of any chatter amongst the criminal element (after leaning on as many informants the FBI could access) and the fact that things had gone eerily quiet since the attack, with no attempts to finish the hit, Don reached his chilling conclusion.

The room was quiet as they each processed what Don had set out. Edgerton broke the silence, saying what they were all thinking. That it was the most likely scenario. Unfortunately, having finally accepted that they knew the motive and source of the hit, did nothing to alleviate the fear they had for their teammate's life. If anything, their fear and concern was ratcheted up exponentially. If the Chinese were behind the attack, seeking vengeance for Colby's betrayal, the threat they posed to Colby's life was infinite.

Each person in that room knew they would do everything they could to protect Colby. They also knew if the Chinese espionage machine was behind the hit, there was little they could do to stop it and that the operation would likely remain active until the mission had been completed. No matter how long it took.

Colby really was a Dead Man Walking.

**Author's Note**: **Although I have been reading fanfic for years (started with Third Watch fic back in the day), the writing is something I've never done before starting this story. So your reviews and positive comments are greatly appreciated. You guys are amazing!**

**Since I am new to this fanfic author thing, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to respond to comments here or by message? If anyone has anything they wanted to ask or wanted to talk about a Numb3rs in general, feel free to message me. **


	12. Chapter 12

Six weeks after the attack, Colby Granger finally returned to work. The physical effects of the attack had long since healed. He had received the mandatory psychological counselling and was cleared for a return to active duty. However, that had been a week earlier. Taking an extra week of vacation time, Colby returned to Idaho to visit his mother and the rest of his extended family. What he knew then, but would not reveal, was that this would be one of the last time he would make the trip to see his family. Well aware that there was literally a price on his head, Colby vowed that he would never bring that terror to his family. If that meant that he talked to them more and saw them less, then so be it. Colby knew he would never forgive himself if someone were to come after him again, while he was with his family. He would do whatever it took to protect those closest to him. Even if that meant at great expense to his personal happiness or life.

Similarly, the after work drinks with Liz, the weekend runs with David, the group dinners at Charlie and Alan's were things he would force himself to sacrifice. It would be difficult, but not something that Colby was unfamiliar with. Before joining the FBI and being assigned to Don's team in the Los Angeles office, Colby had lived a life of great solitude. In college he was focused on wrestling and academics. Hardly a monk, Colby joined a fraternity, dated, had a great deal of fun and made alot of acquaintances. However, none of those acquaintances could say they actually knew him. After graduation, he joined the army and the cycle repeated itself. That cycle would continue until the FBI. Perhaps it was due to the great deal of stress he was under in the undercover operation, living a lie, that he sought out true friendship for the first time since his father had died. It had provided the necessary link he needed to maintain his sanity. He also realized for the first time, how much he had missed that human connection.

Now, five years later, Colby would force himself to give up the friendships he had developed and distance himself from his own and extended family.

Colby had reached the same conclusion that Don had laid out to the rest of the team six weeks earlier, that the Chinese were most likely behind the attack. Although the FBI and State Department had received empty assurances from their Chinese counterparts that the Chinese espionage machine had nothing to do with the attack, it did little to dispel Don and Colby's view that they were the most likely culprits. With enough experience in counter intelligence and having heard a fair bit of how the Chinese worked from Duane Carter, Colby knew once the order had been given to end his life, the operation would remain active until successfully completed. Vowing to make the most of whatever time had left, Colby would throw himself into his work. Knowing he would never allow himself to fall in love or start a family, for the fear of what that would mean in the attack against him, Colby could only hope that through his work he might be able to make a difference in someone else's life.

Although the attack, in its first stage, had failed. But in a way, it had succeeded. It denied Colby the chance at the life he most wanted. A life of normalcy. A life with love, happiness, children and peace. Like the solider he always was a heart, he accepted the burden that had been placed on his shoulders and soldiered on.

THE END

**Author's note: Many apologies for the delay. I had hoped to finish the story a few weeks ago, but in preparing for a lengthy vacation, I ran out of time. As I type this I am literally half-way around the world from home on a six-week backpacking trip. **

**I should explain, for those who are likely disappointed in the lack of any further action / adventure in the story, and what may seem to be an abrupt end, but it was always my intention for the story to end this way. It honestly just felt like the most logical resolution. While I am personally a fan of adventure and angst, I do believe that angst for angst sake in storytelling, is rarely done well and more often then not comes across as implausible. **

**Anyway, if there is a demand for it, I would certainly entertain the idea of continuing on with the story, perhaps advancing the timeline somewhat to compensate for any potential implausibilities. **

**Thanks again to all for your support. **


	13. Chapter 13 Bonus Chapter

Bonus chapter

365 days. That is one year in a lifetime. And a lot can change in a year. A year can bring you love for the first time. It can ease heartache and grief. It can end a marriage. It can end a life.

On the one year anniversary of his near drowning, Colby Granger once again sat atop a surfboard and attempted to forcefully forget…for those moments…the events of only 12 months earlier. Events that haunted him and now shaped every decision he made.

Every decision, from the mundane to the more important, was now considered within the context of the events that had transpired on that cold, early morning a year earlier. It was exhausting and the toll it took on him was becoming more visible.

Imagine for example, having to ask yourself every day, not should you go for a run after work, but what routes have you done recently. Have you established a pattern that you were previously unaware of? Are any of the routes more likely to provide a trained assassin with a clear shot and an accessible exit? Add to those, the more serious questions of whether it is safe to sleep in your own bed or visit your mother on the 15th anniversary of your father's death, and it was not surprising that Colby was moving closer to the ragged edge.

Colby was self-aware enough to recognize that the coping mechanism he had used in Afghanistan was failing him now. In Afghanistan, he had dealt with the situations he faced by accepting that he was already dead and that anything he did from that point forward was to the save the lives of his brothers. He was still single-minded in his focus to always putting his teammates first. However, since the attack Colby was constantly thinking five, ten and twenty steps ahead. Doing Charlie-like math with every decision in order to determine which option would have the greatest chance of seeing him through to another day.

Unlike Afghanistan, Colby was now essentially living his life as though he had one to live. Despite how hard he tried, his subconscious was stubbornly clinging to hope. Unfortunately, when that subconscious sliver of hope met with the conscious reality that his life had been marked for execution, he was unable to surrender to the inevitable and function without thinking about the consequences. Strangely, this conundrum only existed outside of work, in his personal life.

Perhaps, it was a testament to how strongly he cared for...and loved…the people he had come to view as his family. Although he knew he was a marked man, he wanted to be there for the important moments in his friends' lives that he knew were yet to come. He wanted to toast Don when he was promoted to head of the Los Angeles department. He wanted to stand beside David at his wedding and become the favorite Uncle Colby to David's children. He wanted to be able to vote for Nikki when she eventually ran for office and golf with Alan should he ever actually retire.

And Liz…well. For purely selfish reasons he couldn't say he wanted her to fall in love. He did however want her to be happy.

Liz Warner. Shutting himself off from her was a lot harder than he thought it would be. And he wasn't proud of how he had treated her over the past 12 months. Always friendly at work and on the job, he had refused every attempt she made to get back to their regular post-work dinners or drinks. On one recent occasion, he had even forced himself to stand her up when she demanded they meet at his former favorite dive bar in the Valley to talk. He had watched discretely from a distance as she exited the bar, after waiting more than an hour and a half for him to show, ignoring her voicemail messages and texts. Not longer after that, Liz began to spend more and more time out of the office. She even went so far as to volunteer to help out another short-staffed department. As a result, their paths had rarely crossed in the last two months.

The conscious part of his brain told him this was in her best interest. His subconscious knew better.

As his mind wandered back to the present, Colby shielded his eyes from the sun and looked out over the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. From where he sat, he could see the two men who had saved his life. Oscar Duffy, the fire department battalion chief was in the midst of a nice ride on a gentle break. A smile on his face.

Everett Anderson, the young paramedic, was paddling out, having just arrived at the beach 10 minutes earlier. Catching Everett's attention, Colby raised his left arm and nodded his head. Everett smiled, waved back and continued paddling out.

Neither Everett nor Oscar would mention the one year anniversary of Colby's near drowning. However, they were both aware of the significance of the date. Two weeks after the attack, once Colby was released from the hospital and able to talk with a voice above a raspy whisper, he had approached Oscar and Everett separately at their respective employments, to thank them personally for saving his life. That he chose to meet with them at work, as opposed to the beach, was no coincidence. To preserve the tranquility that the ocean provided him, Colby had to separate the attack from his love of surfing. Uncomfortable themselves with having seen their friend lying lifeless on the beach, blood pouring from a hideous neck wound, and feeling helpless at not reaching Colby sooner, Oscar and Everett were happy never to discuss the matter again. However, both of them suspecting Colby had been specifically targeted, they would always be looking out for him whenever they surfed together.

Colby checked his watch and decided the day could no longer wait. It was time to go to work. Picking the next wave, he paddled forward and popped up to his feet. He was able to ride the wave most of the way in before he was knocked off his board. Colby checked his overhead and all surroundings (a new, post-attack habit) and kicked his way to the surface. Swimming the short distance to the shore, he made his way up the beach. Grabbing his towel and using the outdoor shower to wash the salt water from his hair and off his wet suit, Colby discretely removed the ka-bar knife he kept strapped to his forearm and hidden under the wetsuit (another new post-attack habit). Slipping the knife into his duffle bag, he undid the wetsuit, wrapped a large towel around his waist, and in the time accepted and well-practiced tradition of nearly all surfers, was able to quickly change clothes without flashing any bystanders.

Colby stowed his board and threw the duffle bag in the back of his SUV. Checking his reflection in the rear-view mirror, he ran his fingers through his wet hair and tried to make himself a bit more presentable for work. Having pushed the dress code to its extreme limits recently, he was attempting to make more of an effort at "business casual". As had been the case for nearly every day in the past year, his gaze drifted to the now-fading, lengthy scar which ran across his neck.

Absentmindedly his fingers traced the outline of the scar, as though they could somehow eliminate it and the still present threat that it represented to his life.

To his mother, extended family, friends outside of the FBI and the occasional blind date or stranger to inquire about the scar, they would only hear a vague story of a "freak surfing accident". It was a fictional explanation that Colby had come to embrace. One that he could almost allow himself to believe, in that it had provided some relief from the reminder of what was actually out there waiting for him. That somewhere in the world, somewhere as close to home as Los Angeles, or as far away as China, there were men or women tasked with the assignment of ending his life at some point in the indeterminate future.

As he pulled away from the beach and onto Highway 1, he mentally catalogued the vehicles that remained in the parking lot, as well as those on either side of the 4-lane highway. Chastising himself as a "poor man's Jason Bourne", Colby bitterly laughed to himself and figured there was nothing out of the ordinary that morning, no obvious threat to his life that he could see or anticipate.

He was wrong.

**Author's note: Sorry about the Liz stuff. I guess I'm just hoping the show puts them together and since they haven't I've filled in some details for them. Also, I should say I know that the neck wound is completely inconsistent with how Colby re-enacted a similar attack with Larry in an earlier season. It bugs me that my version is inaccurate of how the neck thing would have happened, but it just works better for the story, in that my version was something that Colby could actually survive. I wouldn't want to kill off my favorite character, would I? **


End file.
